


Dirty Laundry

by sarken



Category: Real News RPF
Genre: F/M, Laundry, Porn Battle VIII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-15
Updated: 2009-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:03:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I feel like I'm obligated to tell you that, even as a lesbian, I am ridiculously turned on by the sight of your man-body doing laundry."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Porn Battle VIII prompt: _RPF, Keith Olbermann/Rachel Maddow, laundry_.

"Is it wrong I'm completely, totally, insanely jealous that you have a washer and dryer in your apartment?" Rachel asks, hovering over Keith's shoulder as he turns the machine on. "I have to schlep my clothes down three flights and west two blocks. Totally not fair. I want a washing machine."

"Where would you put it?" Keith asks while he measures a capful of detergent and pours it into the washer.

"I could rip out the stove," she says matter-of-factly as she leans against the wall. She crosses her arms over her chest, cringing and quickly uncrossing them when they stick to the beer-soaked material of her t-shirt. She pulls the shirt away from her skin and it makes a wet sucking sound. "Eugh, gross." She does it again and laughs at the noise, cocking her head as she considers her own reaction. "It is entirely possible I'm drunk right now."

"You don't say." Reaching behind him, Keith holds out his hand and waggles his fingers. "Fork over the shirt, Maddow."

Rachel pulls the shirt over her head and hands it to him. "I feel like I'm obligated to tell you that, even as a lesbian, I am ridiculously turned on by the sight of your man-body doing laundry."

Closing the lid on the washer, Keith turns around, a smart retort on the tip of his tongue. It quickly turns into stuttering when he sees Rachel standing behind him in her bra, and he manages to stammer out, "Uh, you're, uh, you're not -- you're not wearing a shirt."

Rachel laughs. "No shit," she says, grinning. "I was wearing a beer-soaked t-shirt, Keith. I'm pretty sure you already got the full show."

"To be embarrassingly honest, it never even dawned on me." He gives her that dopey open-mouthed smile she still thinks might be real. "Though now that you've drawn my attention to it, I feel like I'm required to tell you I may in fact be ridiculously turned on by the sight of your partially unclothed woman-body. And, come to think of it, I may also be just slightly drunk if I'm emulating your speech patterns like this."

There's a long pause, the apartment silent but for the soft sounds of the television and the loud whirr of the washer. Rachel looks down at her shoes as she says, "So we're drunk, turned on, and we have twenty minutes to kill."

Keith nods before looking back at the timer on the washing machine. "Twenty-one, in fact."

"Oh," Rachel says, lips quirking upward into a crooked smile. "Well, I guess that decides it then, doesn't it?"

She kisses him with a force that backs him up against the washer, and his hand travels lazily down her back, touching the clasp of her bra before his fingers slide beneath the gapping waistband of her jeans. Pressing her leg between his, Rachel leaves a trail of biting kisses down his neck, moaning against the hollow of his throat when his hand slips around to her fly.

"We might have to do this more than once," he says, thumb flat against the button on her jeans. He pushes it back into her stomach as he struggles to unbutton it with one hand. "I don't think we're going to last twenty minutes."

"Eighteen," she says with a grin, rocking her hips against his, trapping his hand between their bodies. His fingers are inches shy of dipping between her legs, and she stands on tiptoe, trying to force them closer to her cunt, but he catches on quickly, leaning back to slide his hand free.

Hands on her hips, he pushes her away. "Watching the clock, Ms. Maddow?" he teases, eyebrow raised, and then he's lifting her off her feet and spinning her around, sitting her on top of the washing machine. He winces and gives his biceps a dirty look. "Next time I'm about to do that, remind me I'm old and decrepit."

Rachel laughs, and Keith focuses his dirty look on her before sliding her closer to the washer's edge, her legs on either side of the left corner. "Lean back," he tells her, and he sneaks his hand down the front of her jeans as his mouth covers her breast, tongue tracing her nipple through her bra.

"God," she laughs out, arching into his mouth as the washer vibrates between her legs. "God, I am so very, very jealous. I want a fucking washing machine."


End file.
